


Sunday

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Cousin Incest, First Time, M/M, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco learns some lessons from his older cousin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.
> 
> A/N: This isn’t properly British. Set in an AU where Sirius and Draco are totally fine right up to at least Draco’s seventh year.

Draco Malfoy is a very good Slytherin and very well suited to his house.

That, however, doesn’t mean that he can’t find Orion and Walburga Black to be two of the most boring and disagreeable people on the face of the planet.

He can’t, of course, say that to his mother. He knows for a fact that his father feels similarly but pretends he’s enjoying himself for his wife’s sake. Draco, unlike his father, can’t be banished to the couch for a week. So he opts to excuse himself lightly from the table, to which Walburga croaks, “Regulus, why don’t you show your cousin around?” Turning back to Draco, she adds in what would normally be an affectionate side note, but on her seems to be an accusation, “You haven’t been here since you were toothless.”

Draco scrunches his nose but abides by his mother’s warning glare and says nothing.

Regulus, who Draco thinks of more as an uncle than a cousin as he’s closer to Draco’s parents’ age than his own, begrudgingly guides him out of the dining room. Once they’re effectively out of earshot, Regulus turns to him and grunts, “What do you want to see?”

Regulus Black is not an unattractive man. He’s a foot or so taller than Draco, with long, dark hair, and sharp eyes that hold little to no interest in the blond before him. Brain rattling for an effective excuse and finding nothing good, Draco drawls lazily, “I need to use the loo.”

“It’s two corridors down, on your right.” Regulus gestures vaguely. After a moment of them both staring at each other awkwardly, he adds, “...Do you need me to show you...?”

“Nope,” Draco chirps. He marches down the instructed corridor alone. Regulus stays where he’s left, and after a few moments, Draco hears his footsteps wander off in a different direction. Good riddance. Draco’s not a child, despite his parents’ refusal to accept that he’s legally come of age, and he resents the notion that he needs to be babysat.

Although it has, indeed, been quite a while since his last visit to Grimmauld Place. The Blacks usually attend Malfoy Manor for their visits so they can leave select parties at home, and general family gatherings are usually at the Lestrange Estate, again so that invitations can be a bit more selective.

But that’s exactly what’s peaking Draco’s interest now, and once he’s safely out of Regulus’ sight, he takes a sharp left. He’s not sure where exactly he’s going, but he knows that pureblood families can bicker and gossip for hours, and he should have plenty of time to find his way. He’ll just explore for a bit, and that should be fine.

Provided, of course, that he doesn’t run into Bellatrix and Rodolphus, who excused themselves a while ago and are probably down some dark passageway either fucking or torturing small animals together.

Draco shudders at the thought and reminds himself to keep his ears peeled; Regulus might be less-than-pleasant company, but at least he’s relatively sane.

Because, in his experience, Slytherins seem to creep the most around dungeons and the like, Draco climbs the first staircase he comes to. He figures what he’s looking for will be a little higher. He tries each door he passes, pressing his ear to it first to check for occupants. He has no luck with the first several. He turns down another corridor. Then he finds a room that is, like all the rest, completely silent inside, except that the handle won’t turn.

Because Draco’s spoiled and used to getting his way, he tries it several more times, expecting it to apologize and open. It doesn’t. Though he’s now old enough to use magic outside of school, it’s never wise in a pureblood’s house, but he still contemplates doing it. Perhaps the inevitably traps won’t react to family.

Before he’s properly decided, the door swings open. Draco stumbles forwards as the handle’s jerked out of his grasp. This lands him directly into a strong chest he quickly backs away from, blushing furiously and frowning.

Sirius Black looks down at him with a flat (though perhaps mildly bemused) expression. Draco’s cheeks flush a little further.

Sirius, a little more so than his brother, is a very handsome man. He’s similarly tall, though a little more tanned, and his long, dark hair is attractively tousled. He isn’t wearing robes: just plain, black dress-pants, and a form-fitting white button-up with an open collar. Draco wonders vaguely if Sirius was supposed to come to dinner but simply failed to meet the dress code.

“Lost your way, cousin?” Sirius asks casually, leaning back against the door.

Draco sneers and bites back a, ‘no.’ Instead, he strategically asks, “Why weren’t you at dinner?” Not because he cares, but because he needs a conversation to worm into.

With a very smug look that places him firmly as a Black despite his infamous Gryffindor status, Sirius asks, “Is that a serious question?”

Draco resists a serious-Sirius joke and simply scowls. He’s not sure what else to say, so he stands stubbornly in place until Sirius fills the silence.

“Well, then,” Sirius pauses to glance once over his shoulder, back into his room. (Draco fights the urge to crane his neck and look past the only slightly ajar door.) “Any particular reason you were trying to break into my room?”

Shrugging, Draco half-truths, “Just trying to find some place to hide. Your parents are dreadfully awful company.”

Smirking knowingly, Sirius says, “I couldn’t agree more.” Then he steps back and opens his door a little wider. “In light of that understanding, I suppose you can hide in here.”

Draco tries to keep his grin in check as he accepts the invitation and struts past Sirius. He hears the door close firmly behind him and the click of a lock moving back into place, but he’s too distracted to turn around to check.

Sirius’ room, like the rest of the building, is old-fashioned and ornate in structure. The walls sport gaudy crown moldings, and the tall window on the far side is intricately woven and wrought iron. The general colouring is dark, depressing, and slightly tinged either green or brown. But in terms of all the personal affects, the room is nothing like the rest of number twelve Grimmauld Place at all.

Over Sirius’s grand, king-sized bed, hangs a bright crimson Gryffindor banner. There are similar decorations all over the room; his bedding and area rug and even small pieces of furniture are all red and gold. There are strangely-still posters of muggle motorbikes and clearly-muggle, bikini-clad women all over the place. It looks like the sort of thing a very rebellious teenager would do, and Draco suddenly has a whole new understanding about why Sirius is rarely invited to family events. To be perfectly honest, it makes Draco a little uncomfortable. It’s like stepping into a bedroom the sheer opposite of his own, and if he gets caught here, he’s going to have some explaining to do. Adulthood is no excuse for independence of _this_ magnitude.

“Like it?” Sirius asks nonchalantly, in a smug tone that could be sarcastic. He walks around Draco and sits gingerly on the bed, leaning back on his arms. It makes the top buttons on his shirt strain, although the topmost one is already out, and Draco tries not to stare at the smooth skin underneath. Despite the dark hair just scarcely visible under his cuffs, Sirius’ face is clean-shaven. Draco wonders vaguely about that and remembers snippets of rumors about the man being something of a playboy.

After a moment or two of feeling oddly out of place and looking around with barely-restrained disdain, Draco drawls, “...So this is what Gryffindorks are like at home.”

“Cute,” Sirius chuckles singularly. “But if you do it again, I’m afraid I’m going to have to use my authority as your older cousin to spank you for it.”

Whipping back around and blushing furiously, Draco splutters, “What?”

“That’s my house you’re insulting. I may have already graduated, but that doesn’t mean I can’t defend our honour.” And there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that convinces Draco he’s dead serious.

Rather than apologize, Draco wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t say anything, and wonders, like he’s been doing since he first heard about this visit, if he can use it to his advantage. He doesn’t have any Gryffindor friends. Or any older, more experienced friends. Or anyone at all he can go to for advice, that isn’t either as dumb as Goyle or as... perceptive... as his father. And the information he’s looking for is for a very specific purpose, that he’d rather not have any Slytherin find out, ever. Especially his father.

After a moment of silence, Sirius says, “You didn’t answer my question.”

Scowling, Draco says bluntly, “I don’t like it.” And then he realizes that won’t get him anywhere, and he adds, more slowly, “...I don’t understand Gryffindor preferences.” (He’s carefully not to add the ‘k’ on the end. Getting spanked isn’t exactly what he had in mind.)

“I’ll bet you don’t.” Sirius quirks an eyebrow. Smirking dangerously, he adds, “But you’re looking around quite a bit. Are you interested in what Gryffindors like?”

Yes. He should say no. Still blushing hotly, Draco slowly manages, “...Maybe.”

“Have a boy you’d like to impress?” Sirius asks, and Draco’s mouth instantly falls open. “And you’re worried you won’t be able to please him, or perhaps that he’ll tease you for being a virgin?” When Draco starts to splutter like a useless fish, Sirius laughs, “What? It’s not that hard to tell—you’re wriggling like a horny schoolgirl!”

“I am not!” After a second, Draco quickly adds, “And it’s not a boy!”

“Oh, don’t be like that. I’m experienced enough to know another fag when I see one. Don’t act like you haven’t heard my reputation.”

Draco feels like he’s going to die of overheating. His cheeks are going to burn him to death. After a moment of horrible consideration, Draco glances at the door, licking his lips. He folds his arms nervously over his chest and mutters, “You can’t say that to anyone.”

“Naturally. Don’t worry, cousin; I can be very discreet.”

Draco sneers, “Don’t call me that.”

“What, ‘cousin’? Why? Does it make you feel dirty to discuss this sort of thing with a family member?” And he slides one foot forward, bumping into Draco’s. Sirius’s socks are white, and Draco’s are black. Neither of them are wearing shoes, as Walburga is very particular about the filth of the outside. Sirius’ foot slowly starts to rub at his shin, and Draco shudders. “We haven’t even done anything yet.”

When that one foot reaches past his knee and starts to gently climb his thigh, Draco’s eyes fall closed, and his breathing’s coming a little harder. His arms drop limply to his sides again. It does make him feel _dirty_. He knows what Sirius is like; he isn’t stupid. This is dangerous ground to get into. And they are family, for goodness’ sakes. Hating himself for his shaky voice, Draco mumbles, “Are you sure the door’s locked?”

“And the silencing spells are up. Don’t worry, cousin. Trust me; do I seem like the type to let my family just burst into my room?” And when Draco opens his eyes, Sirius holds out one inviting hand.

This isn’t going at all how Draco thought it would. (It might, perhaps, be going a little like a few wet dreams of his, or the late-night imaginings he uses to accompany his hand, but it’s never how he thought it would actually happen.) It’s going distinctly _fast_. Not wanting to spoil the mood but wanting to keep some of his dignity, Draco mutters, “You’re more like an uncle.”

“I’m not that old,” Sirius laughs, gesturing again for Draco to take his hand. His foot is now rubbing soft circles on Draco’s thigh, carefully avoiding the one part on Draco that would really, really like to be rubbed.

Biting his lip to stifle a groan, Draco scrunches his eyes closed again and mumbles, “You could be my dad.”

“Ouch. I am younger than your parents, you know.” Draco jumps slightly when he feels strong fingers wrap around his own, and he looks down to find that Sirius has taken the initiative. His voice gets suddenly lower and huskier. “Besides, this way you know you’re getting plenty of experience, as well as the Gryffindor approach.” A devilish smirk. “As well as a bit of family fun.”

“That’s disgusting,” Draco scowls, even though his chest is starting to flutter foolishly. He lets Sirius’ fingers close around his palm and tug him gently towards the bed.

Draco steps between Sirius’ legs, sucking in a deep breath. He doesn’t know what to do about this, which only reminds him that he is, indeed, inexperienced. And he doesn’t like that. He’s supposed to be the Slytherin Prince, and he feels too old to be... virginal. The very idea makes him extremely embarrassed, but he’s sure it’s nothing to how he’ll feel if he ever does approach a certain Gryffindor, only to crumble under pressure. (That one’s certainly a virgin too, even if he has grown bizarrely handsome in their Seventh Year, but still. Draco needs to be _better._ ) Draco needs... practice.

And Sirius Black certainly isn’t a difficult option. In fact, with that dark grin smirking hungrily up at him, it’s hard to even remember that one person Draco had in mind when he started this. When Sirius does break eye contact, it’s to run his eyes slowly down Draco’s body, appreciatively roaming every dip and curve. Draco’s robes are back in the dining room, draped over his chair. He’s in a black turtleneck now and dark pants, and even though he’s usually very confident about his gorgeous looks, he can’t help but feel nervous under the scrutiny.

But Sirius seems to like what he sees, and both of his hands slip to land smoothly on Draco’s chest. Fingers spread, they run probingly down to his hips, and Draco shudders as Sirius growls, “Nice. Very nice.”

Then Sirius stands up quickly, and Draco has to stumble half a step back to make room. But he can’t get any further—Sirius is still firmly holding his hips, and their legs brush—the front of Draco’s trousers are starting to tent; he can’t help it. The contact makes him gasp.

“You’re a good-looking catch, cousin,” Sirius hisses right above his ear. “If you weren’t such a spoiled, selfish little brat, I’d say you could get any man you wanted.”

Draco’s too heady to deal with the insult. So he just scowls uselessly against Sirius’ chest. This close, his scent assaults Draco’s nostrils: thick, and musky and very... _masculine_. It makes Draco shudder and _turns him on_. He already knew he was gay. But it’s still a bit... irking... to have it so strongly confirmed.

It takes Draco a moment to mutter breathlessly, “I’m not a brat. You don’t know me.” Sirius’ hands have left his hips in favour of running up his back, caressing and feeling. Draco doesn’t know what to do with his own hands, so they stay firmly at his sides, fists clenched in anticipation. (He wants to touch Sirius. But his dignity and nerves hold him back. He wants Sirius to touch him everywhere...)

“I do,” Sirius practically purrs, and he turns his head that extra inch to nibble on Draco’s ear, making him involuntarily moan. “I was there when you got your first broom, remember? I showed you how to mount it properly... I sent you a toy snake when you first got into Slytherin... I was there last Christmas when you snuck too much firewhisky, and I covered for you, saying it was mine and you were just ill...”

Draco’s stopped listening. Sirius’s teeth are nibbling gently at his earlobe, tongue running along the shell, hot breath on the side of Draco’s face. His strong hands have made it down Draco’s back and cup his ass firmly, making Draco gasp and arch upwards. Sirius’ chest is hard against his. Does Sirius have a six-pack? It feels like he’s _built_. 

“I saw the way you looked at me,” Sirius whispers, and Draco just whimpers; he wants to protest, but those skilled hands are kneading his ass and he’s never been touched quite like this before. His hands hesitantly rise to hold onto Sirius’ broad shoulders, clutching at the fabric for bearing. “But I wasn’t sure if you were just drunk, and you’re so young.... I went out that night and fucked a sharp-faced, blond git in a muggle dive, and I thought of you when I came.” Draco moans loudly at this story and wants to rut into Sirius, but can’t; Sirius is already tightly holding him in place. “...But that wasn’t as hot; he wasn’t you, my little, baby cousin...”

Draco just barely manages to gasp, “Not a baby,” and turns his head upwards obediently when Sirius moves to kiss him. He’ll be returning back to Seventh Year after this break, and then he’ll have his last few months, _his last chance_ , and then he’ll be off and free and able to _fuck whoever he wants._

Draco’s kissed before. But never like this. Sirius doesn’t waste time being chaste; he slips his tongue into Draco’s dutifully-parting lips and starts to feel around. He runs over Draco’s teeth and sucks on his tongue, moving and pressing forwards, and so, _so_ hot. The passion is overwhelming, and he loves how Sirius takes control, fiercely devouring him. It feels like Sirius is claiming him. Draco tries desperately to keep up but doesn’t know what to do. Sirius does it all for him. Sirius dominates his mouth and squeezes his ass and directs him around like a child, and Draco finds, to his surprise, that he _loves_ it.

When Sirius finally pulls back, there’s a thin trail of saliva connecting them, and Draco’s left gasping for breath. “Looks like you don’t need your first lesson,” Sirius smirks.

“M... making out?” Draco pants blearily. His head’s hazy and he wants to pull Sirius’ face back down, hoping they really will make out, all the way until his parents collect him. 

Sirius just chuckles and says, “No. I suppose Slytherins are natural followers.” Draco scowls again; he feels like he’s perpetually caught between that and blushing in this room. “Hey,” Sirius offers, “That’s a good thing here.” And he leans in very close, hovering barely a quarter of an inch from Draco’s face. His voice drops even lower, sounding too seductive for Draco to handle. “Gryffindors are lions. We’re the kings. And we like to take control of our prizes...”

Still breathing very heavily and desperately wanting Sirius to close the gap again, Draco drawls, “You’re dogs.” Because even now, he simply can’t let Gryffindor have the upper hand.

Sirius grins evilly before tightening his grip on Draco’s hips and suddenly swirling them around. Draco stumbles to stay upright, with the back of his legs now bumping into the bed, but Sirius picks him up easily by the waist and chucks him unceremoniously onto it. Draco squeaks and bounces in the plush, crimson duvet, lying back and propping himself up on his elbows like Sirius first did.

Sirius puts one knee on the bed and proceeds to crawl predatorily up Draco’s body, growling with a wide smirk, “Then you’re my bitch.”

Draco tries to protest—but he’s too busy both trying to breathe and ogling the handsome older man now on all fours above him. He feels trapped, or perhaps caged, and before he can manage any words, Sirius leans down and reclaims his mouth. This kiss is every bit as passionate as the last one, and Sirius is so hard and firm that it forces Draco’s head down, until he can feel the back of his skull digging into the blankets. He can’t believe he’s doing this. But he’s unbelievably glad he is. It’s like his whole body is singing, warming and itching to be touched. When Sirius pulls up, he pecks Draco lightly on the side of his mouth, then on his cheek, and Draco submissively turns his head so his cousin can place a row of wet kisses down to his neck. Unable to contain it, he lets out a low, wanton moan, and his hands fist in the sheets below.

“You’re so beautiful,” Sirius growls, next to his ear, nipping at it again. He bites Draco’s neck shallowly, making Draco gasp and whimper when he starts to lick over it and suck on it. His hands trail probingly down Draco’s sides and rest at the hem of his shirt, slipping onto the thin stretch of stomach where it’s riding up. “Bet you have all the little boys at school wanting you, hm? With a nice, soft body like yours...”

Draco closes his eyes, because it’s overwhelming to have them open. And he can’t see anything from this angle but Sirius’s ugly ceiling and stupid Gryffindor banner, anyway. He wants to shake his head but doesn’t want to dislodge Sirius and ruin the kisses he’s getting. Or the hickey. Is that what’s happening? He’s never had one before, but that’s what he thinks will happen.... It’s a good thing he wore a turtleneck. Instead of asking, because he knows that would only shamefully highlight his inexperience, he mumbles, “’M not little.”

Sirius chuckles again and harshly kisses his way back up to Draco’s mouth. “Yes, you are. You’re my pretty little cousin.” Draco tries his best to sneer angrily but is sure he’s not pulling it off right—his eyes are half-lidded and his cheeks are warm. His lips feel swollen and wet. He finally moves his arms, slipping his hands’ under Sirius’ chest, so he can push Sirius off if he has to. Sirius doesn’t look worried. “What did you say I was? Your uncle?”

“You’re old,” Draco mumbles, because that’s what the problem is, not that he’s young. But he keeps his expression smoldering with equal parts anger and lust. He doesn’t actually want this to end and so doesn’t want to be too bratty. Although Gryffindors do, it seems, bring out the worst in him.

But Sirius just smirks mischievously and orders, “Open up.” Draco obediently parts his lips. “Good boy.”

And then Sirius dives in and kisses him brutally, tongue thrusting inwards and lips working and Draco feels like he’s being smothered in delicious, wet heat. His arms wrap around Sirius’ neck so he can tug Sirius in, hold him down. He fists his hands in that dark hair and loves how Sirius’ fingers run through his own blond locks. He gets the feeling that if his head weren’t already being firmly dug into the bed, Sirius would be pulling his hair and tugging him around like a horse. Not that he’d be any better equipped to fight that. Draco feels like all of his protests are dying in his throat. It’s like his brains are being fucked out of his skull by Sirius’ tongue, and he feels fuzzy and exhilarating and so, _so_ horny.

Sirius parts their lips and quickly swipes his tongue flat across Draco’s chin, which makes Draco scrunch his eyes closed. Sirius chuckles overhead and sits up, looking down at Draco admiringly, who feels incredibly naked even though he’s still fully clothed. He tries to school his features into neutrality like his father’s always telling him to, even though he’s blushing heavily, and he can’t close his mouth because it’s too difficult to breathe. “Hmmm,” Sirius purrs. “What should Uncle Sirius teach you next?”

Draco gulps but doesn’t say anything. Oh, Merlin, let him not be this useless the next time around, in front of anyone else. He knows exactly what he wants; he’s just scared to death of both it and saying it. He bites his lower lip and tries to will Sirius to say it. A part of him is glad this is happening with a family member, even if it is inherently wrong. It’s also oddly... comforting.

When it becomes very obvious that Draco isn’t going to be helpful, the usual impish look in Sirius’ eyes temporarily warps into something much crueler, and he leans back casually. Flicking his hair in an inhumanly attractive matter, he asks, “You know, I think we’re wearing entirely too many clothes for this. And it’s such a shame to hide a nice, youthful body like yours... now the question is, should I make you undress for me, or do it myself...?”

Draco’s eyes open in horror, and his cheeks are absolutely burning. He doesn’t know which prospect scares him more—stripping or being stripped. He withstands the urge to cover himself childishly with his hands.

Quirking a brow, Sirius asks, “Oh, really? That virginal, are you?” And he puts a comforting hand on Draco’s stomach that isn’t at all comforting. “Don’t worry, princess. I’m sure you’re beautiful naked.”

Licking his lips nervously, Draco mumbles, “’M not a princess.” He’s breathing very, very heavily. Is this really going to happen? Are they really going to do this? It is what he came up here wanting. But it’s still scary and moving so fast. He doesn’t want to think about how badly he wants to see Sirius naked. But what if Sirius doesn’t like how Draco looks? He shakes his head. He’s a Malfoy. He shouldn’t be thinking like that...

Before he can properly decide, Sirius bends down suddenly and bites onto the hem of Draco’s shirt like a dog. He then proceeds to jerk the fabric all the way up and over Draco’s head with incredible strength, leaving Draco to gasp and struggle out of the clinging material. With the shirt still caught in his teeth, Sirius tosses it to the other side of the room, sitting back up to examine Draco’s exposed chest with a very feral look in his eyes.

Draco feels inexplicably like he’s wandered into the lair of a wild animal and tries not to let that get him harder. Sirius scoots up so he’s sitting right on Draco’s waist, straddling him, and Draco can’t stop himself from glancing down to check. Sirius’ trousers are tented, and as he shifts, he rubs against Draco’s crotch, and it makes him groan. Sirius bends down to run his hands all over Draco’s flat stomach and spelled-hairless chest, exploring every inch and making him glow. When Sirius gets to Draco’s nipples, his thumbs tease them gently to life, playing with and softly tugging at them. Draco turns his head to the side and covers his mouth with the back of his hand—thank Merlin there’re silencing spells up. He feels like his wanton moans could be heard all down the corridor otherwise, possibly all the way to the next floor. And he’s embarrassed enough as it is.

“Gorgeous,” Sirius breathes, and Draco’s chest unwittingly swells with pride. “’Knew you would be. ‘Been wanting to fuck you for years...” ...Draco goes stiff at the word ‘fuck,’ even though he’s also really hoping that’s where this is heading.

Sirius chuckles at his reaction and bends down to nip more at his neck, purring, “Don’t worry, cousin. Uncle Sirius will take good care of you...”

Draco shivers and stifles another moan with his hand. One of Sirius’ hands move from his nipple to slip back down his stomach, pressing firmly into his skin, and then the tips of his fingers press every so slightly beneath Draco’s trousers.

Draco gasps and isn’t sure if he wants to shout for Sirius to stop or keep going. This is wrong. He knows it’s wrong. He can’t just let his cousin... well, into his trousers, for lack of better terminology... but _Merlin_ , he wants someone to touch his dick... is he going to have to touch Sirius’? The thought makes him squirm and whimper. Sirius is probably long and huge, with dark curls and...

Draco trails off with another gasp as Sirius bites particularly hard down on his collarbone before pulling back.

Then he fiddles quickly with his shirt buttons, and Draco watches, enraptured, as that creamy white material slides from his shoulders, ripped off harshly at the end and tossed aside. Draco’s eyes widen approvingly at the sight; Sirius is everything Draco wanted him to be. Strong, smooth, muscled, and with a little bit of dark hair in the center... he dives back down before Draco can properly memorize it all, smashing their warm skin together. Draco groans instantly into the hard kiss he gets, and when Sirius starts grinding into him, Draco’s happy to thrust up to meet him. Their closed bulges rub together and Draco’s momentarily worried that he’s going to come just from this alone; it’s already more stimulation that he’s ever had, more skin-on-skin, and he’s hornier than he’s ever been. But he doesn’t want it to just end like this, he wants... he wants...

Sirius makes a dark chuckling noise in his throat as he pulls back. Taking in Draco’s wrecked form, he runs one hand down to Draco’s navel and growls, “My, my, aren’t you just the picture of debauchery, little cousin...” He pecks Draco on the chin harshly. “What a lucky man I am, to get to steal your innocence like this.”

Draco whimpers.

Sitting fully upright again, Sirius bends back to reach into his pocket, while Draco admires the way his muscles stretch with the movement. Draco can’t believe he ever wasted time on Pansy. Men are so much hotter. .

Pulling out a dark wand, Sirius shuffles a little back on Draco’s lap. Draco whines when their groins are no longer touching. Sirius presses the tip of his wand into Draco’s bulging crotch, and Draco instantly lifts up on his elbows. “What are you doing?” he squeaks, even though Malfoy’s don’t squeak. But any man would with a wand pressing into their dick. Sirius just pops his usual, over-confident smirk.

“What part of ‘don’t worry’ don’t you understand? I know what I’m doing.”

But that isn’t enough, and Draco whines, “Well, what are you doing?” 

“Safeguarding against the follies of youth.” And he taps the wand lightly; Draco feels a tingling sensation around the base of his cock and gasps when something cool and hard wraps around it. Then Sirius places his wand gingerly aside on his pillows, while one hand relaxingly rubs Draco’s stomach. “Not that I’m not a fan of your age, cousin. I’m quite honoured to deflower such a delicious, young, pliant body...”

Draco doesn’t want to admit that the cockring might be a good idea. He’s heard of them before, of course. But like all the other various toys he’s heard of, he never thought he’d actually use one. Malfoys are supposed to be more... dignified... than this. It feels sort of strange, and restrictive, and he would say something if Sirius weren’t effectively blocking Draco’s mouth again with his own.

He skillfully kisses all of Draco’s worries away, while his hands slip between them and deftly start to unclasp Draco’s belt. Draco breaks the kiss to gasp and clutches at Sirius’ shoulders. Sirius chuckles but keeps going. He slides Draco’s belt out easily and flings it onto their growing pile of discarded clothes, before returning to work on his buttons. Draco tries anxiously not to hump upwards. He tries to be patient. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. He’s so, so eager. He doesn’t want to seem too desperate. And he’s a little scared. He wants to do it, though. Should he undo Sirius’ fly? Or should he just lie here, and take it?

What do Gryffindors want their lovers to do?

Voice trembling faintly, Draco mumbles, “What... what should I do...?” 

Sirius lifts up to glance downward, where he’s effectively opened Draco’s trousers. He palms the green, silk boxers underneath and muses, “You want to know what a Gryffindor would want you to do?”

Draco tries desperately to control his breathing. That’s exactly what he wanted. But it’s more complicated than that, he finds, as those long fingers rub at him through the thin, slinky material. Smacking his lips in an attempt to redistribute his drying saliva, he pants, “What would you... would you have me do...?”

Smirking brilliantly, Sirius nuzzles into his cheek. “Aww, cousin,” he purrs. “How sweet. Am I melting your cold, pureblood heart?” Then his tone drops dangerously and he growls, “I’d want you to get down on your knees and suck my cock until I sprayed my cum all over your pretty little face... and I’d want you to bounce up and down on my cock like a fucktoy... and I’d want you to kneel, naked, on your hands and knees in front of me with a dog collar on, and I’d march you around on a leash and then fuck you like an animal, covering your young ass in my seed, and I’d make you my _bitch_.” He ends by biting into Draco’s jaw, and Draco cries out and has to cover his mouth again. If it weren’t effectively blocked, his own dick would be exploding by now.

When Sirius crawls off the bed Draco, whines at the lost, squealing when his trousers are suddenly grabbed by the belt loops and tugged harshly off his legs. He slides down the bed and almost tumbles off, until the black fabric is thrown to the corner with the rest. His boxers go next, easier, and his hard cock springs free, bouncing lightly in the cool open air. Draco bites his bottom lip and clenches his teeth to avoid saying anything that would make this even more embarrassing. His pale skin is officially flushed from head to toe.

Sirius, on the other hand, looks at Draco very hungrily, and starts to unclasp his own belt. His eyes never leave Draco’s body, and Draco’s ashamed when his cock twitches happily under the attention. He’s already got a lot less hair than Sirius, and there’s only a small trail of blond hair above his dick, and he’s otherwise smooth. He thought it would be more attractive, but now wonders if it just makes him look childish. He silently prays for Sirius not to say anything.

Sirius drops his own pants with as much confidence as usual. Which is to say a lot. And Draco can now see why. His cousin’s cock looks huge, and it’s fully erect, jutting proudly out of a mess of dark curls and curving slightly upward. It’s darker and redder than Draco’s, and his balls are bigger and hanging heavier. “Like what you see?” Sirius asks.

Licking his lips, Draco tries not to betray the lust in his eyes. He wasn’t really sure size would matter before, but now... just seeing it makes Draco’s mouth start to water. What would it taste like, he wonders? As his cousin, would it taste similar to his own? Not that Draco knows what his own tastes like... he ends up just weakly nodding, and he shuffles backwards as Sirius moves to climb onto the bed.

Because it’s now inescapably obvious where this is going, Draco mumbles, “H... how do you want me...?”

Sirius chuckles and says, “You’re too cute, cousin.” Draco goes red and tries not to ruin the mood with a sneer. “...I’m a big fan of doggy style, myself. But since it’s your first time, it’d probably be better if we’re facing each other, so you can see in Uncle Sirius’ face that he doesn’t want to hurt you.” He’s smirking very widely, and Draco just nods. “Want to know what Gryffindors want?” Draco doesn’t say anything, and Sirius leans down to whisper, “I’m not going to tell you. Because if I did tell you all the naughty, dirty things Gryffindor boys would love to do to you, I’d be turning my cute, baby cousin into a big slut.” And he kisses Draco’s cheek chastely, as though he couldn’t imagine a worse fate. Draco can’t quite tell if he’s being mocked or not.

He’d like to think that Sirius is being unreasonably possessive and trying to keep Draco young and inexperienced, so he can have Draco to himself.

Oddly, that idea isn’t seeming so bad, at the moment...

When Sirius flattens them together, their erections brush, naked and unhindered, and Draco almost screams, arching upwards and fingers fisting in the sheets. Sirius’ hands skim down his body, and then he leans up to reach for Draco’s legs. Draco takes the hint and tries to wrap them around Sirius’ waist. But Sirius goes the extra step and bends them back, looping Draco’s knees over his shoulder. Draco blushes hotly, feeling very exposed and very vulnerable. When Sirius looks down, he has a very clear view of Draco’s ass, and Draco scrunches his eyes closed so he won’t have to see that reaction. He nearly yelps when the tip of one finger taps lightly over his hole.

“So pretty,” Sirius muses. Draco can feel hot breath ghost over his cheek, and Sirius’ body press down over his, bending his legs back. He can feels Sirius’ hard rod press between his spread cheeks, but one hand still moves in between them, stroking down his crack and fingering his puckered entrance. “You have such a fuckable hole. All pink and furrowed and tight-looking... I think it wants me to fuck it...”

Draco shudders and keeps his eyes closed.

Sirius nips at his neck and growls quietly, “What do you want?”

At the moment, that’s not a hard question. Although speech is a somewhat difficult feat. Draco barely manages to gasp, “You.”

“Hm? Sorry, Uncle Sirius is getting old; he can’t hear you if you don’t speak up.”

Draco opens his eyes to glare up at his smirking cousin. But he’s too turned on to play coy games, so he just hisses louder, “You.”

“My what?” Sirius clarifies, grin growing ever wider. Half the time, Draco finds Sirius’ impish ways amusing, the rest of the time irritating and immature. This is definitely one of the latter times. “My finger?” And he pushes his index finger lightly into Draco’s hole, applying just enough pressure for it to shudder and open slightly. Draco gasps as the blunt tip breaches him shallowly. “My fist?”

Draco shakes his head quickly before that can happen and gasps, “Your cock!”

“Say it all,” Sirius orders, whilst slowly pushing his finger in and pulling it out. He doesn’t go very far at all, but it’s still strange, and still makes Draco squirm. It’s sort of uncomfortable, but the situation is really hot. And the teasing way those fingers along the outside play with his rim and that hard cock smears precum on his thigh makes Draco long for more. He knows he’ll like it. He’s never done it before, but he’s still very, very sure, that he’s about to have the time of his life.

So he gasps, “I... I want your dick... in me...”

“In you?” Sirius asks, and presses his finger a little deeper.

“Fucking me!”

“Hm?”

“Oh, Merlin, Sirius!” Draco gasps, as a second finger threatens to join. “I want you to fuck me with your fat cock!” 

Chuckling, Sirius tries to straighten up, but Draco’s hands dart out to grab at his cousin’s shoulders and tug him down. But Sirius is stronger and jerks out of Draco’s grasp, leaning over to collect his wand off the pillows. Clutching it firmly in one hand, he presses it again between Draco’s legs.

Whimpering and a little scared, Draco mumbles, “What are you doing now?”

“No worries, babe,” Sirius assure him, patting his thigh. “I’m just preparing you. Normally I’d just go for fingers and spit; I like it rough. But I wouldn’t want to hurt you, and it’s your first time, so it’ll already be a little uncomfortable...”

“But it’ll feel good, right?” Draco asks, because in his wet dreams and fantasies it always feels good.

Sirius nods. “After a bit, if I do it right. This spell helps a lot.” And then he grins darkly, though his face is still concentrating on Draco’s rear. “...You’ll have to come back for another round later, cousin. It gets better as you go.”

Draco doesn’t say anything but silently (and happily) files away the invitation.

The he gasps and arches as a tingling sensation fills his anus, and it feels like he’s both being filled with a sloshing liquid and stretched gently wider. Sirius presses his finger in farther, all the way to the knuckle, and Draco wriggles against it, finding it not nearly as uncomfortable as before. Another finger slides in and he starts scissoring Draco experimentally; Draco groans. It doesn’t hurt at all like he thought it might. He was right to come to Sirius, he thinks—whatever that spell is, he’ll have to ask for it later. (He’ll have to know; his target’s no good at magic, save maybe Herbology.) He feels perfectly ready, and he flexes his bent legs around Sirius’ shoulders.

“So impatient,” Sirius sighs teasingly. “That’s the trouble with youth. You need to learn to stop and smell the sex in the air.”

“Flowers,” Draco corrects breathily, because he’s proper like that and he doesn’t want Sirius to get his way all the time.

Sirius just smirks and tosses his wand aside again. Then he takes his cock in his hand and rubs it skillfully between Draco’s cheeks, making Draco writhe and groan. He can feel the large, spongy head nudge at his entrance and he gasps for it. This is it. This is going to be it. He’s going to lose his virginity. ...To his own cousin...

Then Sirius gives a little thrust and the head pops in; Draco gasps instantly and flexes around it; Sirius grunts and barks, “Draco, relax.” ...It might be the first time Sirius has used his actual name all night, and it’s that more than anything that makes Draco want to be obedient and listen, and he tries desperately to relax his muscles. Then Sirius starts pushing father in, slow as a snail, and he’s big, so very, very big. Draco’s not sure at all how that whole thing’s going to fit inside him. But he tries to accommodate it anyway and tries not to squeeze around it, even though it feels like that’s what he should be doing. It’s a very, very strange sensation, being impaled on his cousin’s cock like this, and at first he’s not sure how he feels about it. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, and it’s wet and he can hear it squishing along. But it is mildly uncomfortable again and incredibly odd. He can’t believe how far it goes in and how long it keeps going. It feels sort of like it’s splitting him apart. His breathing is coming erratically and laboured, and when Sirius gets all the way in, Draco can feel Sirius’ balls against his ass. Sirius, panting above him, waits for him to adjust.

Then Draco brokenly gasps, “Please...”

And Sirius pulls slowly out before briskly ramming back in. Draco screams at the impact, and clutches tightly at Sirius shoulders. He can feel sweat start to break out all over his body. Although that might’ve already been there. It burns when Sirius pulls out again. Sirius leans down as he does it and fiercely captures Draco’s lips. He’s happy to oblige. Otherwise he was going to scream himself hoarse in no time.

On the third thrust, Sirius adjusts before slamming back in, and on the fourth one, he does it again, and that time it hits something in Draco that makes him see stars. A burst of unadulterated _pleasure_ rushes up through his veins, drowning out the burn of being stretched and the uncomfortable feeling of being stabbed with something hard and big. He screams into Sirius mouth, and Sirius pulls back so Draco can moan freely, heels digging into Sirius’ back and trying to press him in further. Merlin, he wants more of that.

Sirius mutters into his ear, “Merlin, you’re so hot.” And his thrusts start coming quicker, faster. Every one hits that bundle of nerves that makes him quiver and turn to jelly. Sirius slams into him over and over again, pounding him into the mattress. He goes deeper and harder and brutally, fucking Draco like a wild animal—all Draco can do is lie there and get pounded. He’s shoved a little forward with every thrust, then dragged back down, then shoved back up. His mouth is permanently open, leaking little trails of both their spit down his chin. He can feel his blond bangs plastered to his own forehead, and Sirius’ own tousled locks couldn’t look more erotic if he were straight out of a porno. Panting almost as heavily as Draco, Sirius growls, “Yeah, take it, you little Slytherin slut.” Draco wants to startle at the sudden insult but is too aroused to bother. “You like getting fucked on a big Gryffindor cock, don’t you?”

Draco moans, “Yes, uncle,” because he’s too far gone to not play these games. His eyes are getting glassy, his pupils dilating. It’s too much. It’s so _hot_. The slapping sounds of flesh on flash compete with Sirius’ grunts and his whimpers, and it’s so, so good. His thighs tense around Sirius’ shoulders, holding him tightly in.

“You little snake,” Sirius laughs darkly, sounding wild and like an animal. He’s fucking Draco like an animal; like a wild dog. Harsh and rough and so hard and so deep. “Yeah, that’s right. You love Uncle Sirius’ dick in your tight hole. And you’re going to come back and beg him to fuck you more, aren’t you? Because no one can pound you into the mattress and put you in your place like a Gryffindor can, like your uncle can...”

“Mmmm, yesss...” Draco gasps, “Yes, Uncle Sirius...” he’ll come back. He’ll come back for all sorts of lessons, whatever he can get. He’ll make up some sort of excuse, he doesn’t care.

“Yeah, you’ll be Uncle Sirius’ bitch. I’ll claim you and fuck you and do all sorts of nasty shit to you...”

Draco screams loudly on a particularly violently thrust that feels like it’s going to break straight through his ass and into his stomach. “Yesss!”

“You want to be my bitch, cousin?” And he bites Draco’s ear and slips an arm under Draco’s waist, forcing Draco to arch even further into him.

“Yes, yes! Ahhh!” Draco can hardly form coherent words. He’s barely able to listen. He tries to keep his eyes open so he can stare at his incredibly handsome cousin, dominating him so completely. He wants to see every bit of this, memorize every moment, because jerking off is never going to be the same and he needs to remember this for his fantasies. He needs to remember what it’s like to be filled beyond capacity.

“Say it,” Sirius growls, and it’s so commanding that it would frighten Draco if he didn’t already feel so thoroughly owned.

He struggles and gasps to moan, “I-I’m your bitch!” And then Sirius shoves his legs under Draco, forcing Draco’s ass up into Sirius’ lap. It switches up the angle, but after a quick adjustment, Sirius is pounding into that same spot. It’s still blowing his mind, and now it’s going impossibly deeper, and Draco’s eyes are watering from the sheer pressure and heat and pleasure. A hand snakes between their bodies, and when Sirius’ long fingers wrap around his cock, Draco shrieks in utter bliss. That calloused hand starts pumping him skillfully between them, driving Draco wild. His vision goes blurry, mouth open wide. It’s too, too, too much. Oh Merlin. It’s so good. _It’s so good._

Then Sirius leans over and bites harshly into Draco’s neck, making him scream, and those skilled fingers quickly yank off the ring around Draco’s cock. He screams wildly and comes instantly, arching and gasping and shooting his mess between them. Sirius’ hand milks it all out of him, and Draco shudders and convulses around Sirius, toes curling and eyes rolling back in his head. His chest heaves and he moans and screams and moans again.

Sirius gives him a few more hard thrusts before exploding inside him with an ear-splitting howl. He rides out his orgasm and Draco gasps and takes it, trembling and satiated and tired.

Then Sirius collapses atop him. He’s heavy, and warm, and slick with sweat. Draco’s panting so thickly he thinks his lungs might collapse. Sirius stays inside him, and now that Draco’s brain has been thoroughly fucked out of him, it feels sort of odd again.

That’s exactly how he feels. He’s been fucked into oblivion. He’s panting erratically and his bones are all mush. He’ll just lie here. Forever... 

Although, Sirius is bit too big for a blanket. After a moment, Draco manages, “...Uncle Sirius...?”

Sirius grunts and rolls off helpfully, slipping out of him. Draco whimpers at the loss and can feel the sticky liquid that follows start to dribble out of him and down his thigh. His own cum is all over his stomach.

He feels dirty. ...And otherwise brilliant.

He almost jumps out of his skin when a knock sounds on the door.

“Don’t worry,” Sirius says casually, as Draco shoots up on his elbows. “Sound can come in, just not out.”

“Sirius?” Regulus’ voice calls, and Draco’s cheeks turn pink again at the prospect of being caught like this. “Have you seen Draco? It’s time for cake.”

Draco tries to instinctively say, ‘Ooh, cake,’ but Sirius quickly clamps a large hand over his mouth. Then Sirius collects his wand and does a lazily (albeit sparkly-looking) flick. “He got away from you, did he? It’s a pity even other Slytherins can’t stand your ugly mug.”

Draco scowls and swats Sirius’ hand away, although he still keeps his mouth shut. Just because Sirius is a rebel doesn’t mean Draco needs to have Regulus hate him.

“Oh, grow up!” Regulus throws back. “And don’t bother coming down to join us—you’re not invited!”

“Not interested!” And Sirius rolls over to nip at Draco’s ear again—Draco throws his own hand over his mouth to stifle any noise. “I just had my own dessert!”

“Bet it was fruit cake,” Regulus grunts spitefully, and then they hear his footsteps trail off.

Sirius just chuckles at his brother’s comment and leans casually back, folding his arms behind his head.

Draco takes a second to breathe and then forces himself to gather his head. He can’t be found here; he’ll be ostracized, or possibly disowned. Or something as dramatic and terrible, he imagines. He climbs off the bed and immediately regrets his haste; his ass is sore. ...But he probably should’ve expected that. He yelps when Sirius swats at his behind, and he turns to glare. But Sirius just continues to look smug and lies back down.

Draco gets his boxers halfway up his knees before he has to stop and blushing mumble, “Um... Sirius...”

“Uncle Sirius,” Sirius jokingly corrects. But he responds helpfully to Draco’s scowl by performing a quick scorgify.

When he’s satisfactorily clean again, Draco resumes tugging on his clothes. He feels dirty still, and although it’s in a good way, he could still benefit from a shower.

“Leaving so quickly?” Sirius asks from the bed as Draco tugs his turtleneck back over his head. Draco glances at the gloriously naked form of his cousin, lounging about so carelessly, who doesn’t seem at all concerned with getting decent again.

“I have to go,” Draco says bluntly. “But... er...”

“You’ll come back for more lessons? You’ve got a long way to go if you want to live up to your cousin’s level of sexual delights.”

Draco, turning a deeper and deeper crimson as this conversation goes on, simply nods in a mortified fashion, slipping quickly out of the room. Which, by the way, smells heavily of sex. Hopefully his parents won’t be able to smell it on him. He closes the door firmly shut behind him, trying not to savour the moment over-sentimentally. (...Even though he sort of wants to. If he had time... but he doesn’t...)

When he’s out in the corridor, Draco breaks out in a wide grin despite himself, and has to stubbornly try to remove it as he makes his way back to the dining room.


End file.
